


Colours and Promises

by ArtistActorAthens



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Penny & Baz friendship?? idk, Pre-Book: Carry On, Secret Admirer, a smidge of angst, i guess, they're all overdramatic teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-12-04 01:00:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20925059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtistActorAthens/pseuds/ArtistActorAthens
Summary: In their third year at Watford, Penelope catches Baz baking scones with a small little smile on his face and a glimmer in his eyes. So, of course, she gets curious.aka Penny discovers Baz's smol precious side a lot earlier than eighth year.





	Colours and Promises

**Author's Note:**

> the title makes it sound a lot deeper than it is; literally this is just a stupid idea that I couldn’t get out of my head. It’s probably going to be super OOC but I need some fluff and more Baz & Penny friendship after Wayward Son so here we are. Should be spoiler-safe but I’ve already read Book 2 so something might have slipped through my filter.
> 
> A HUGE thank you to AO3: reflectioncat for being my beta reader! (https://archiveofourown.org/users/reflectioncat/bookmarks)
> 
> Set in Baz, Simon, and Penny’s third year at Watford.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**PENELOPE**

Alright, sue me. I just wanted some extra food.

The kitchens aren’t even that far from The Cloisters - all I’d have to do was sneak down the corridor and through some of the courtyards and I’d be there. And it’s not like Cook Pritchard would be _ too _mad. I’ve been helping make the meals at Watford since first year. 

Which is another reason I was sure my plan would work. I know my way around those kitchens like no other student -- even the seventh years. I’d be in and out in a flash. I’d just grab some leftover biscuits and crumpets and cheese (and pastries for Simon, obviously) and be on my merry way. And if I did run into trouble, I knew a handful of spells that would prove to be quite useful.

Tomorrow (or today, I suppose -- it must be past midnight at this point) is Valentine’s Day. The Mage had made this strange declaration that all classes are dismissed after 12 o'clock on Valentine’s Day -- it still puzzles me and Simon to this day. (His theory is that The Mage just really likes Valentine’s Day.) (I told him that probably wasn’t it.) (Who _ likes _ Valentine’s Day? And The Mage, of all people? Honestly, Simon.)

But our first Valentine’s Day at Watford, after classes were over, we sat on the floor of Simon’s room in Mummers House and ate all the biscuits and scones we could, and played magickal games with Simon’s rubber ball, and sang really bad pop songs very out-of-tune. (We’re both tone-deaf.) We drove Baz out of the room pretty quickly. All the while we were staring out the window across the lake and at the courtyards and making faces, giggling at all of the gross older-year couples kissing or snogging- or worse. We had so much fun that in our second year -- last year -- we decided to do the same thing. We saw a couple practically eat each other’s faces on the near side of the lake, and Simon laughed so hard that tea squirted out of his nose.

Simon doesn’t know I’ve noticed, but he’s gotten quite a bit taller since we first arrived at Watford two years ago. I used to be a hair taller than him; now he’s almost a head above me. He started feeling weird about changing clothes around me. He’s lost some of his baby fat. His body is more defined. (He’s still a twig of a kid -- all bony elbows and lanky legs.) He started crushing on girls in older years -- if you could call them crushes. He fell head over heels for Agatha in first year, but this year it’s become much more severe. He never shuts up about her. 

He never shuts up about Baz, either, and how he thinks Baz is plotting to kill him in his sleep, or ruin his life, or take Agatha to make him jealous or something. But that’s not a change. He’s been doing that since the Crucible assigned those two as partners.

His voice has begun to change. Not enough that it’s completely noticeable, but enough to make you realize the difference. Just enough that you can no longer make up excuses as to why it’s deeper, or blame the deepness on being sick.

I haven’t changed a bit since I got here. I still have my baby fat, and I still haven’t got a crush. I’m starting to get some acne, but apart from that, I’m exactly the same. Maybe I’m just so used to having a plan, so afraid of not having a plan or preparation for the coming years I convinced my body and mind to stay exactly the way they are. But that’s a stupid theory. Even I know that.

I have to do this. To get him to invite me to Mummers House again. Because it might be the last chance Simon and I get to make fun of the teenagers we’re so reluctant to become.

But as I arrive at the dining hall and sneak my way around the perfectly placed tables and chairs, something seems off. I’m already in a strange mood -- I’m not used to being in here when all the lights are out. You can see the moonlight shining through the great windows and bouncing off of the tables. It’s eerie in the most wonderful way. And you’d expect it to be dead silent. But it’s not. There's faint humming, and the crackling of a fire coming from the kitchen. I look to the north end of the hall, where the old oak door that leads to the kitchens sits. The door’s cracked open as light pours out from underneath it and through the opening. Someone’s already here. 

I inhale deeply. It smells like flour, fruit, and smoke. Something’s burning. Someone’s _ baking _ . Who the hell _ bakes _ at 3 in the morning?

I suppose it could be Cook Pritchard, or one of the staff, but it seems unlikely. I take small careful steps, holding out my ring as I approach the door. I peer through the opening to see…

No. There's no way.

But it is. It is undeniable. The prim, proper, and cold-hearted Basilton Grimm-Pitch is using a spell to pull a tray of something out of one of the great brick ovens, singing softly to himself. He has a nice voice. Warmer than you'd expect, and more full. And I'm not sure what he's singing, but it sounds like a cheesy pop song. He's smiling, and he has a little glimmer in his eyes that I've never seen. Simon’s always said that Baz has long hair for a bloke; it's not nearly as long as mine or Agatha’s, but the little bit of length he has is tied up in the tiniest of buns at the nape of his neck. He’s smiling. He's wearing pajamas. He's wearing an _apron._

I turn myself away from the door in an attempt to clear my spinning head. What the bloody fuck is happening? Who is this and what has he done with Simon’s always-pissed-off bastard roommate?

I hear something ceramic, probably a plate, fall onto the floor and shatter. _ “Shit!” _ I hear Baz hiss.

The door is already open, but I’d never pass up on the chance to practice a spell. I take a deep, quiet breath, point my ring at the doorknob, and whisper, ** _“Open sesame!” _ **

The door gently opens the rest of the way.

Baz is covered in flour. He’s kneeling on the floor, picking up slightly burnt scones. He looks up at the sound of the door. He freezes.

**BAZ**

This is just bloody brilliant, isn’t it. I’ve almost set myself on fire at least seven times, and I’ve cut myself with the knife fifty more than that. I burnt the scones and I dropped them all over the filthy kitchen floor. I’ve got flour all over myself, I tore through the knee of my favourite pair of pajamas, and now Penelope Bunce of all people is bearing witness to my failures. She’s staring at me now, eyes narrowed and arm extended towards me, her magickal ring a few feet away from my face.

I cannot under any circumstances tell her why I’m making these. To be perfectly honest, I think I’d rather die than tell her.

_ Well. At least it’s not Snow. _

“What are you doing here?” she asks. It’s in an extremely accusing tone, as if I’ve poisoned these things and I’m planning to use them as a means of assassination. To be fair, I’ve probably given her a perfectly good reason to assume I’d do such a thing. I wouldn’t put it past myself. 

“Baking,” I respond, completely deadpan. I mutter ** _Clean as a whistle _ ** to get the dirt off of the scones and ** _Good as new_ ** to fix the plate. I would use ** _Float like a butterfly _ **to get the plate back onto the counter, but we’ve just started learning that spell, and I’m not very good at it yet. It's a miracle I even managed to get the tray out of the oven. I get up to put the plate down and do the best I can to brush the flour off of myself. Bunce frowns at me.

She pushes her wire-framed glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Right. Because you do this all the time.” She lets out a heartless laugh. “What are you doing with those, then? Are you making them as a Valentine’s Day gift for your crush?”

I feel a bit of heat rise in my chest. Crowley. It’s a good thing I haven’t had anything to drink since this afternoon, or I would be blushing like a madman right now. How do I answer that? _ Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing, but they’re going to be an anonymous gift because the person I have a crush on hates my guts and also happens to be not only a boy, but your best friend? _

Like I said. I’d rather die. 

Maybe I’m being a bit overdramatic. But I’m thirteen. Thirteen-year-olds were made to be overdramatic. I look down at my feet. “None of your business, Bunce.”

She walks towards me, and I worry that she's going to either hex me, punch me, or interrogate me. I steel myself and brace for impact. Bunce has always intimidated me. She's a fierce magician; there are a million things she could do to me that I probably wouldn't be able to survive.

But instead, she makes her way to the counter and begins to examine the scones. I wince. There are a million things wrong with them. I'm not exactly a great baker. Unfortunately, I did remember the key ingredient. And Bunce will know who they're for the moment she notices. In other words, I'm hopelessly fucked. If someone as intelligent as her can't figure out the flavour of my scones after minutes of observation, I definitely muddied something up.

I feel a pit in my stomach grow with every agonizing second Bunce is taking to search every inch of my shitty pastries. Finally, she turns back towards me and, instead of accusing me of making a Valentine's Day gift for my worst enemy, she gives me a face of approval, the same face you get from teachers after just barely passing their exams. “I've seen worse.”

I almost sigh with relief, but I roll my eyes instead. “Thank you for singing me your praises.”

“I'm serious, Basil.” Penny never calls me Baz; she's never had any good reason to. “They actually look edible.” She smirks. “I'm sure your crush will enjoy them immensely.”

She did notice. That git. I think my cheeks might be slightly coloured now. “Piss off, Bunce.” I turn away from her, towards the counter, and point to the door. “I've got to finish up with these.” I grab the icing from the refrigerator. 

“You know I was only joking, right?”

“Yes,” I lie. I point to the door again. I can't look her in the eyes. “Now sod off.”

“Basil…” she trails off, as if she's not sure what to say. Then, she asks, “What song were you humming?”

I snap around to look at her. “What?”

“You were humming a song just now. You know, when I was walking in?”

“_Sneaking _in,” I correct her. I aggressively spread the icing over the scones.

“Oh, what_ever._ I just wanted to ask what song it was is all.”

“It doesn't matter,” I reply. “Now please, for Crowley's sake, _ piss off._” _ You’ve already humiliated me enough, _I want to add, but I bite my tongue. 

“I was just trying to be friendly,” she retorts.

“Well, that's not going very well for you, is it?” I snap. “Just get out.”

“Fine!” she snaps back. She slams open the cupboard and grabs an armful of food before turning on her heels and walking briskly out the door and out of sight, muttering something along the lines of _ “bloody bastard.” _That’s fair.

As soon as she’s gone, my shoulders heave and I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. I carefully move the scones from the plate to a white paper bag.

I inhale, then exhale. I find a pen amidst the mess of cutlery and tools and write a note on the bag in my best handwriting possible. I almost sign my name, but I think better of it. I put out the fire, go out into the dark hall, and place the bag at the spot Simon has sat at every single day for the past three years.

I smile to myself. Maybe he’ll like them. Maybe they’ll make him happy. He won’t know they’re from me. (Unless Bunce tells him, of course, and I’m praying she won’t -- I can’t take that bruise to my dignity.) But maybe, for once, I’ll be the reason he smiles instead of the reason he frowns.

That would be nice.

.o0o.

**SIMON**

I’m practically steaming out of my skin. I am so angry, and upset, and it hurts to breathe. How can this possibly be happening?

“Simon, you need to calm yourself,” Penelope tries to tell me as we walk to the dining hall. Right. Like that’s going to happen. _ I’m a boiling kettle at the moment, Penny; there’s no calming me down. _I try to shrug it off, but it ends up being jerky and harsh.

Penny puts a hand on my shoulder and tries her best to maintain a straight face through the physical pain my magic is probably inflicting on her. “We still have to go to classes until noon today.”

I knock her hand off of my shoulder and flail my arms around as the other students in the corridor give us strange looks. “It was Garrett, Penny! She was kissing Garrett!”

“I’d define it more as snogging, actually,” she mutters, “but that’s not the point! It’s not like Agatha’s your girlfriend, Simon; she’s allowed to kiss whoever she fancies.”

“But I fancy _ her!_”

“And if you could actually muster up the courage to tell her that, then _ maybe _ we wouldn’t be having this issue!”

“_Ugggggggggggggh_.” She’s right, of course, but I’m too stubborn to say so. I run my fingers through my hair in an attempt to calm myself down. I already feel my magic boiling up in my stomach. If I don’t get my act together, I might end up going off in the middle of the dining hall.

When we arrive, though, my eyebrows shoot up. Sitting on the table, right in front of my usual chair, is a strange-looking white paper bag.

I give Penny a pointed look. “I don’t need pity gifts, mate.”

She shrugs. “It’s not from me. I don’t even know what it is.”

I narrow my eyes at her suspiciously, but I take her word for it. As we sit, I pick up the bag and hold it in my lap. It’s heavy, but not too heavy. There’s definitely food inside of it -- I can smell the sweet tang of dough and cherries. Written on the bag, in neat black ballpoint pen, is a note:

**Happy Valentine’s Day, Simon. I’ve heard you say these are your favourite. I hope you like them.**

“Aww, that’s sweet,” Penny coos. I slap her across the arm and she glares at me before asking, “Is there a name?”

I shrug. Penny frowns. “Shame. I thought I’d get to tease somebody.” She looks at me. “Well? Are you going to open it?”

I roll my eyes, but I shrug again and carefully open up the bag. 

I grin almost instantly. It’s filled with sour cherry scones. They look fantastic -- they’re iced, too, with the good thin sugary kind that flakes off and melts in your mouth. They’re a bit burnt on the bottom, and they’ll definitely crumble, but I don’t care. I start laughing when I see that this mystery gift also includes a ridiculous amount of butter packets for me to use. I show Penny the bag, and she smiles. I reach into the bag to eat one, but she swats my arm. The scone falls out of my hand and lands on the floor; I huff in disbelief. “Oi!”

“I need to check them for poison and jinxes first,” she scolds.

“Wait, why?” I ask. “They were a gift! From someone!”

I feel the hairs on my neck stand up. I turn my head around to see Baz looking at me curiously from the other side of the hall. When our eyes meet, he glares at me and turns away. Git.

“They’re fine,” Penny confirms, turning my focus back to her. “But I just had to make sure. You have to be careful!”

“They were a gift, Pen.”

“An _ unmarked _ gift,” she reminds me. “It could have been from anyone in the school.” She points her ring at the new scone I’ve produced from the bag. ** _“Some like it hot!”_ **

I spread the butter across the now-steaming scone and take a bite into it. I can feel my face light up. They’re really salty. Like, way too salty for a scone. But surprisingly, they’re delicious. I stuff more of it into my mouth and give a full-cheeked smile to Penny, pointing to the uneaten part of the scone and giving her a thumbs-up. 

“Thih ih _ weally guhd,_” I say with my mouth full. I swallow before speaking again, to Penny’s obvious relief. “I wonder who made these…”

A little part of me hopes it might have been Agatha. But the vomit-inducing scene between her and Garrett from earlier comes back into my brain with full force and I quickly knock that theory out.

“Well, whoever it is, it’s obvious they care about you a lot,” Penny replies. I smile sheepishly and shake my head. I’m a shit magician and a colossal fuckup; who would bother doing something like this for me? (_Penny,_ my brain supplies, but that theory’s no good either; she wouldn’t have checked the bag for jinxes and besides, she’s basically my sister.)

“Yeah,” I whisper. I stuff another scone -- cold this time -- into my mouth. Even cold they’re good. Penny smiles at me.

“I really wish I knew who made these for you,” Penny says again. “Ugh, it would have been so much fun to tease them!”

“Does it really matter?” I ask, wiping the crumbs from my mouth with my shirtsleeve. Penny makes a face and throws me a napkin.

“I mean, it could,” Penny pointed out. “They could have been from Agatha, Phillipa…” she snorts. “Hell, they even could have been from Baz!”

I nearly choke. “Can you imagine? Baz baking me scones?” Baz isn’t a baker. I’d know if he was. And even still, the idea is just absurd.

Penny just laughs and smiles a bit too knowingly for my liking. “Ridiculous, I know.”

I grin at her. I’m sure there are crumbs stuck to my teeth. “You wanna come over to our room after classes and make fun of all the gross couples with me?”

Penny nods eagerly, and I know that this Valentine’s Day will be the best one yet.

But when night comes around, I hold the now-empty bag above my head, still too curious.

**BAZ**

He smiled. He was happy. His grin went up to his ears and lit up his eyes.

And Bunce didn’t tell him the truth. I don’t know why for the life of me, but regardless, I’m forever in her debt.

I watch Snow observe the white paper bag, holding it up and letting the moonlight shine through it.

I turn my gaze away. I smile sadly as I fall asleep.

_ I wish I could tell you, Simon Snow. _

_ But for now, this will do. _

**Author's Note:**

> *looks through my works list* *realizes half of my fics are about secret admirers/people giving gifts to their crushes secretly* welp I guess I just really like secret admirer stories lol
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and Kudos are appreciated!


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